running feet can’t take you here.
What made you think the world is yours?
We who drummed,
we who played the last –card;
who raised thy shoulders to the crown?
We have heard eloquences from flummoxed speeches,
Cocooned in parches, self-centered formulas,
dabbling on the liquor of corruption.
I have tasted the gecko’s defecates,
and smelt it acridity from the anus of nepotism.
My nose now sniffs the dust of incivility.
Have you come to push your pockets further?
Perhaps, to make our weight lighter?
Let the afternoon hear you speak.
A good advice is a second mother to a child.
He who has not submitted to anything,
will surely submit to the burial mat.
How can I be frozen by the calabash
of my own sweat, and die beside
my mother’s caring hands?
Written by: Justice Mmahi
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.